


Crest of White, Bow Down

by 2towels



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, All other main cast has dialogue and is featured but not heavily enough to warrant tagging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Engagement, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gratuitous use of fake alien words, Gratuitous use of italics, Hey guys im 20 minutes late, Hurt/Comfort, I mean major Pining Lance, Jealous Keith (Voltron), Klance Week 2018, Knighthood, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Protective Keith (Voltron), Yeehawing on Lack of Altean Lore - Freeform, i caved and edited overnight tenses were fixed sorry casual KlanceWeek, not edited because i wrote 11k words in 24 hours you animals can take what you get im sORRY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2towels/pseuds/2towels
Summary: “I don’t know what I need to do to prove to you that I haven’t thought about leaving, but Ihaven’t.”Without hesitating, Lance lifted his good hand to rest on Keith’s cheek and stroked his thumb across it, silently appreciating his pouty features as he swallowed. “Tell me every day you love me more,” He finally demanded dramatically and breathlessly, flitting his gaze down to Keith’s shoulders instead of the intensity of his eyes, “maybe that would work.”“That wouldn’t even be a challenge.” Keith said quietly.--Five times Lance is swept off his feet, and one time he falls.Klance Week 2018 Day 1: Fake Relationship





	Crest of White, Bow Down

**Author's Note:**

> is "shows up late with starbucks" still a funny meme
> 
> I could have written literally anything else but I had this draft and I was going to finish it Right so here we fucking are.

                Keith broke Lance’s hand.

                It was by no means intended by either party, but the injury came halfway through a crucial battle with a sickening crack when Lance had his hand in the wrong place at the wrong time, and apparently, it was his own fault Keith had smashed the heel of his boot into the innocent appendage during Lance’s recovery period of being sprawled on the battlefield.

                To Keith’s credit of innocence, he had whipped his head around at the crunch beneath his heavy-as-sin boots and garbled out a, “What are you _doing_ away from your post!?” So, at least there was no malicious intent in the ferocious hand-massacre.

                “ _Lance, what’s your position?”_ Shiro’s suddenly-less-patient voice broke through the communications at the sound of Keith’s surprise, and Lance winced and tried to scramble up with grace, begging himself not to cry over his stupid throbbing hand. “ _I_ told _you to stay where you were._ ” Like he was suddenly psychic and suddenly knew exactly who Keith could have been reprimanding as well, wanting in on the action.

                In the middle of the chaos, Keith was watching him with wide and unreadable eyes while Lance looked down at his fingers shaking. “Cut me some slack,” Lance joked, voice strained and knowing there would be very little slack to cut, “I was shoved off that sweet little cliff I had, I’m looking for a new vantage point now.”

                “ _Dude, are you go—”_ Before Hunk’s considerate questioning could come through, Shiro sighed and Lance tested the weight of his bayard with one hand. Annoying but doable. It would be an absolute pain.

                “The cliff I was just usurped from still has some outcroppings I can haul ass up to, I just need a few minutes so be careful without your eye in the sky.” Lance informed before Shiro could instruct him, already scanning for a clear one to make his way for and maneuver to.

                “Can you do that?” Keith asked quietly, eyes intense. Lance startled, remembering he was here rather than having charged back into battle again. In the distance, laser fire shot off and he tensed, but both of them seemed rooted.

                “ _You should have let us know the second you were unavailable for covering fire. We can’t have the risk of depending on you when—”_ Shiro began, but Lance began sprinting for the cliff face and growling.

                “It _just_ happened, and then Keith stepped on me, _okay_? It has been two seconds.” He hissed wildly as he ascended the outcroppings, trying to get high enough by teetering his weight on just the forearm of his broken hand. It was almost futile, but he managed.

                “ _Is Keith even alive?”_ Pidge cut in, likely saving Lance from getting chewed out early through the communicators for sassing Shiro and diverting the attention back to Keith, who seemed knowledgeable and guilty about what he had done to Lance’s poor hand.

                “ _I’m coming._ ” He huffed out, seeming in the middle of something. When Lance glanced around the field he had just climbed from, he saw nothing, but he did see the cliff he had just been thrown from and decided to shoot off a spiteful experimental shot directly into the sentry that had mistreated him so well. It, in turn, fell from the face with a resounding thud, and Lance huffed before focusing on his friends in battle in the distance.

                The throbbing in his hand was violent and impossible to ignore, but splinting a hand was a nightmare of an idea that would take too long and leave him useless, working through it would lead to him crying, and it wasn’t like there was a magic healing pod beside him to pop into. Keith was going to get eighteen earfuls for this one. Lance left only a moment’s hesitation before he popped his chest-plate armor.

                “Nobody let anybody sneak up on them for a minute while I get set.” He bid, gently extracting his arm from his chest-plate and screwing his face up as he experimentally twitched again.

                “ _What are you doing, Lance?_ ” Pidge asked suspiciously. In the distance as Lance transformed his bayard and scoped her out, with a straining hand, he could see her ducking between two downed ships with a severed arm in her hand. Go her.

                “Stripping.” He teased, knowing he would need to elaborate immediately so doing so, “I’m taking off my chest-plate which is a bitch right now so give me a second.”

                _“Language.”_ Shiro warned.

                Coran, surprisingly, piped in, “ _Now, that is ill-advised battlefield technique, paladins! That’s quite a vital piece of equipment there, Lance, and I would recommend it stay on.”_

                Allura’s voice immediately followed much more severely, “ _Lance, whatever it is you are hatching, please keep your armor on.”_

                “I need something to prop my bayard up and there’s no rocks on this ledge tall enough.” He moaned, setting down his bayard carefully and ripping the armor the rest of the way off. “It’s not all for fun and games, guys, I’m doing my best.”

                For a second time, Hunk tried, “ _Dude, are you good?”_

                “Yeah, I just need a second.” Lance stressed as simply as possible. Keith was silent, and Lance was bitter, knowing if he was a normal person who felt normal guilt he would step in to take charge of then situation and explain what he did. Keith wasn’t a normal person, though, and he barely classified as a normal alien, so he stayed completely silent and guiltless just as Lance stayed hissing with his broken hand. What a trade.

                Bayard propped, Lance could finally take a good survey of the field and take in what the course of the battle was going towards. Keith and Shiro worked in tandem picking off main fighters and larger sentries—they looked new, shinier, and a part of Lance was thrilled at the latest robots sent to them because _wow_ Pidge and Hunk were going to have fun dissecting them—while Hunk stayed on the outer-rims blasting off with his canon to practically mow down charges before they could make it near. Pidge was flitting from one of the two empty ships to the other sporadically, supposedly condensing data in a convoluted and annoying way Lance hadn’t entirely understood.

                “Alrighty.” Lance said as he fired off three times. Only two sentries fell and he held back a groan, not wanting to berate himself because two out of three wasn’t bad. “Let’s do it folks.”

                “ _Nice of you to join us._ ” Keith said, and Lance would’ve taken out his hand, too, if he knew he could get away with it.

                Ultimately, the hand wouldn’t have been a problem if Allura hadn’t insisted on having their diplomatic relations with the nearest freed territory immediately after the data retrieval. It had taken hours of teeth gritting to avoid reprimanding from his team at his clumsy injury and aim during their battle, and being thrust directly into niceties was a surefire way to push Lance well past his limit. He had taken blast wounds much fiercer, injuries that had knocked him cold for days before, but there was something about the acuteness of the decimation in his hand that made it entirely unbearable. He felt like he was lying to himself, testing the feel of his fingertips at any given opportunity and hiding his awful winces of pain when it still hurt just as badly each time without fail.

                It was only when they shouldered into the small quarters of the _Fulirb-neetan_ leader’s council area that Hunk spared him a glance and noticed his sour mood. “Don’t ask me if I’m good.” Lance pouted. “My hand is broken.”

                “What—How?” Hunk balked a moment, seeming almost bewildered, “Wait, was that from the cliff?”

                In front of them, Keith took the nearest seat to the exit and glanced back to watch their exchange, seeming wary. “How’s your hand?” he asked when they grew closer, either oblivious or moronic but Lance couldn’t decide which was more irritating.

                “Broken.” He bit out, testily keeping it away from the shuffling bodies in the small space and wincing when Pidge squeezed bodily past him and only scrunched her nose up in apology.

                He was forced to sit next to Keith, much to his dismay, but thankfully Hunk was on his opposite side to rest on and if somebody sat in front of him who was distracting enough he could afford to shut his eyes and will away the pain without looking too much like he wasn’t interested in the diplomatic health of their coalition. He was suffering, and he thought maybe an exception could be made this one time.

                “You should have said something.” Keith murmured softly when Lance tried to slip his eyes closed a moment. He could feel Hunk nod beside him as well, and he glanced at the Red Paladin to find him looking imploringly and openly into his own pained face.

                Lance groaned, sliding in his seat again. “Shiro was already yelling at me, buddy. What was I going to do, whine about my hand that I let you _step on_ , too?” He tried to slip his eyes closed again, but Shiro gave a sharp clearing of his throat from the edge of the room and Allura swept in with their newest ambassador to the coalition, so he straightened.

                Keith didn’t seem to get the hint, though, so his gloved hands gently drew Lance’s own broken one by the wrist into his own personal bubble and unfastened his forearm plate with quick and careful motions.

                “Keith.” Lance whispered dramatically, knowing where his actions were leading, but Keith ignored him, gently pulling off the brace and apologizing under his breath as Lance winced when it brushed past his twitched fingers. Embarrassed, he glanced away instead and met Shiro’s gaze, who nodded to the center conference console and bid the two of them to pay attention. Lance could only offer a reassuring thumb up in return, nodding and trying to get Keith to drop it.

                When Keith unsealed his glove from the rest of his flight suit, Lance couldn’t contain the sharp hiss that fell past his lips, and while Keith again let a soft apology fall from his lips in an almost gentle manner, Lance knew the silence that followed was one that came with pairs of eyes and demands of explanation. They’d been in such a situation enough times.

                Undeterred, Keith continued gently wiggling Lance’s glove off, but Lance lifted his gaze to meet Allura’s surprised one and their new _Fulirb-neetan_ ambassador’s confusingly foggy one. “Blue Paladin?” Lance always felt unsettled when the coalition members had concerns for him, especially before they were fully secure. “Are you injured?”

                Allura’s eyebrows seemed to climb at the prospect, glancing at the join between Lance and Keith and seeming to understand something with Keith finally peeling off the last of covering from Lance’s fragile and sore fingers. When Lance chanced his own glance, they were a puffy and gnarly purple, and he winced again just at the sight.

                “Yeah.” He said after a beat, “I’ll be fine, it was just a misstep.” Keith’s hands, now without an immediate task when faced with the injury, simply fluttered around the mangled hand as he finally glanced up at Lance and snorted at his pun along with Hunk.

                The ambassador nodded, though they seemed a little timid at seeing Lance’s swollen hand. “You will be fine, yes? That is your mate with you?”

                Lance almost groaned at the familiarity of the situation, and he could swear he saw Pidge hide her smile in the corner of his eye. Allura was giving them _the look_ , though, and for as many times as the mistake had been made they had so well learned the varying degrees of diplomatic truth-telling. Some things weren’t worth the effort of correcting in the heat of politics and cultural exchanges, and so of course they were looking at a tally of about four-hundred-million planets now that had assumed Keith and Lance were married and Allura or Shiro or Coran wouldn’t let them correct them on it. Nice.

                “Yeah.” Lance repeated, a little more strained as he shouldered some weight onto Keith, who only grunted and glanced at him. “I’ll be fine as long as he’s with me.”

                Something felt a little distasteful about it, but Keith sent him such a warm and genuine smile that it distracted him from the lies, and Lance carefully laid his hand on his thigh since it was _right there_ and seemed like it would shift less than his own.

                It was after the meeting, after the _Fulirb-neetan_ ambassador was absolutely blown away by how well put-together their coalition has been, that Keith really brought out his A-game, Lance thought. As soon as they stood, he gathered Lance’s glove and arm guard like they were his own possessions and tucked them under his arm, leading Lance himself with a gentle hand to the elbow and a crease between his brows.

                “Were you paying attention to the end of the meeting?” Keith asked as they waited for the rest of the group to get a step or so ahead. His tone didn’t give much away, but Lance felt pretty assured he wasn’t being mocked for zoning out a little. “There’s a small ceremony the ambassador wants us to attend before he sends us off, we’ll be riding in a carriage something for like half a varga with some attendants. You can rest if you want.”

                “I don’t need to sleep.” Lance immediately protested, scrunching up his nose and sighing. From the front of their shuffling group, Allura twisted and sent a look between the two, and Lance threw his good arm over Keith’s shoulder in return with a charming smile laced with absolutely no pain at all. “If I pretend I’m more injured will you carry me?” It was nice, being able to depend on Keith to shoulder some burden for him out of guilt for literally breaking his hand, and since they were sort-of-friends lately, it was even easy of Lance to ask.

                It took a beat of silence, but Keith grunted and lifted Lance without even verbally agreeing. “Dude,” Lance laughed at his determined face, using his good hand to shove Keith’s dark hair away so it wouldn’t tickle at his own ear, since they were going to be so close to one another now, “You don’t actually have to, I was joking.”

                Keith grumbled, jogging a bit to catch up with the group, “Don’t think I forgot about that cliff you got shoved off of.”

                “I’m actually asking you to forget about the cliff I got shoved off of.” Lance bemoaned in return, tucking his face closely against Keith’s shoulder and taking a deep breath. “This mission bites. I’d invite you to do face masks with me and Hunk and Allura tonight, mullet, but I figure you’ll probably ditch me once I’m in a pod, you hand murderer. So, nevermind that.”

                To his credit, Keith looked deeply insulted at the insinuation. “I would wait around for you to come out. When haven’t I?” He had a point, but Lance refused to acknowledge that, slipping his eyes closed and humming again. “Thanks for the fake invite anyway.” His tone was a special kind of bitter, one reserved for masks and attempts and aloofness, and Lance sighed.

                “Keith, buddy, you bail as soon as possible when I flop out of those ghost traps.” He explained evenly, “Running off to do space knows what in the training room, I guess, but I don’t know why you bother showing up at all if you’re just going to seem all irritated about it. Always leaving—” Lance suddenly remembered their audience and wanted to drop it, but Keith seemed unfurled enough to lose his composure.

                “We’re doing this right now?” He hissed, hands gripping at Lance’s side in a gentle irritation that was suddenly tangible, “I’m not _leaving_ you, that’s not what—” He stopped abruptly, and Lance hoped he had also remembered their current objective of romance, but inevitably he was Keith, so of course not, “You just get swept up. It’s not my place to distract you after a near-death experience for no reason. Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Coran are always there, I’m not going to intrude.” There was a moment of pause before he seemed to bristle at a realization and blurt, “And Shiro leaves, too, don’t just pinpoint me out!”

                “Keep your voice down.” Lance grumbled, retracting his arm from around Keith’s shoulders to rub his face and uncharacteristically regret his fight picking. He didn’t dare risk a glance at Allura or Shiro, afraid they’d already noticed the argument, and instead he muttered on, “It would just be nice for you to be there, whatever. You’re not going to make waking up from a death slumber worse somehow, man.”

                “I’m—Okay.” Thinking he had won, Lance glanced up, but Keith was still scowling and his eyes were hard-set. “I’ll hang out with you after you’re out of the pod. Maybe you should stop getting in them.”

                Unsatisfied and suddenly insulted, Lance tacked on, “Wow, thanks for the pity hangout invite, though. Nevermind, just leave if you want to, holy crow.”

                “I’m not _leaving,_ I just thought you would need space.” Keith gritted out, taking a heaving breath. They swung through a short doorway and into the lowering sun, and Lance felt a sigh well up in Keith’s chest before he even released it, so comfortably close to one another.

                “Then why are you saying you’ll stick around like it’s an _inconvenience_ to you? Don’t hurt yourself, it’s not actually that important and actually we can totally forget this.”

                With a little bit of brutish manhandling, Lance was placed in the carriage that would transport them to the ceremony with Keith climbing in over him, hovering delicately as he spoke with a resigned ferocity. “I don’t know what I need to do to prove to you that I haven’t thought about leaving, but I _haven’t_.”

                Keith was looking down at him not unkindly, but his eyes were serious and unwavering, almost impossible to tear away from. As the carriage door shut behind them and the three-legged yak-like monsters tied before it began to trot them off, Lance realized they were shut into their small vehicle with none other than the entirety of their party, who were silently watching the supposed lovers’ exchange, and he didn’t have to glance to feel Allura and Shiro’s boring gazes into the sides of their skulls.

                Without hesitating, Lance lifted his good hand to rest on Keith’s cheek and stroked his thumb across it, silently appreciating his pouty features as he swallowed. “Tell me every day you love me more,” He finally demanded dramatically and breathlessly, flitting his gaze down to Keith’s shoulders instead of the intensity of his eyes, “maybe that would work.”

                Keith’s own two hands found Lance’s cheeks as well, guiding his face upwards again as soon as it had escaped. Maybe it was appreciation for the way Keith had understood, or for Keith’s devotion to their action in their parts, but Lance felt a pang in his chest at Keith’s small and genuine smile in reply. “That wouldn’t even be a challenge.” He said quietly, ducking forward and lowering his hands to hug Lance properly, gently, and without disturbing or jostling his mangled hand.

                _This could be real, how crazy would that be_ , Lance thought at the same time as, _holy crow, shut up._

 

* * *

 

                The thing about coalition ambassadors is that they gossip a surprisingly disastrous amount. Lance and Hunk had been delighted initially to discover as such, but Allura warned them early on that getting overly involved in learning about petty squabbles and he-said-she-said-they-saids would lead to mistrust and tension very quickly, and while the coalition was formed on complicated political grounds under the same banner, team Voltron should always remain a neutral party to anything beneath actually universe-stabilizing detrimental events.

                The _Fulirb-neetan_ ambassador, as conveniently as possible, was such a gossip that by the time Lance stepped out from the healing pods late into their night cycle for a quick-ol’-bone-heal, a chunk of the coalition that was in the same sector as _Fulirb-neetan_ had sent interesting and convoluted messages congratulating Keith and Lance’s union. Allura had informed Lance with a strain to her voice, and Lance, a tire in his own, had slurred, “We’re getting wedding gifts?” and was sent to bed and was escorted by a very quiet yet somehow still-present Keith.

                He was clairvoyant, in that sense, because by the time the paladins had begun their wake cycle the very next morning, Coran informed them at breakfast that they had been docked multiple times by various pods through the night for cargo drop offs, which went very smoothly through all of Altean’s sophisticated security, and all was addressed specifically to the Red and Blue Paladins.

                “So, I didn’t dream that?” Lance choked on laughter, trying to contain his excitement at the prospect of addressing alien “thank-you” cards.

                “You didn’t dream that. We started getting calls like as soon as we got you in a pod, it was so weird.” Hunk smiled, “Congrats, by the way you guys. On the space marriage.”

                Keith sauntered in last, hair wet from his after-training, no-morning-emergency shower. “Don’t call it that.” He grunted, plopping in front of his bowl of goo and tearing in without remorse.

                Lance pouted but he was undeterred. “Aw, come on, mullet. This is the farthest you’ve ever gotten with me, you should cherish it! Most people just think we’re ‘courting’ or whatever they say.”

                “Well,” Coran began indelicately, “In most cultures we’ve visited so far you do show such typical habits of courting gestures no matter where we choose to visit, it's almost addictively environmental, so I don’t blame most of the coalition for tuning in so far.”

                “Not our fault we grind each other’s gears. It happens.” Lance eased out, shrugging.

                Pidge drawled, “Wow, Hunk, do you think there’s…a point? They might be missing here?”

                Keith leveled her and the sunshine boy in question with a dangerous glare, but Lance watched in almost fascination as Hunk raised his hand carefully and mimicked a rocket blasting clear over it. “The point missed them completely. It’s starting to get a little sad.”

                “Whatever!” Lance crowed, suddenly embarrassed and wondering what he was missing but knowing he was unwilling to miss out on his blatant gifts, “Coran, where’d you stash the goods?”

                “I’ve put yours and Keith’s shared gifts in the recreation room to sort through together after this. I’ll be there to help with anything you don’t understand.” The older man explained simply, smiling back at Lance’s beam and busying himself around the dining room otherwise.

                Unable to resist, Lance nudged Keith at his side and spooned goo into his mouth before asking, “Any knives? I know tons of people love giving wedding knives and I just love collecting knives so much so I call dibs on all of them and you all heard me do it.”

                “Lance.” Shiro said, but his tone was amused and light in the morning and Lance knew he was in the clear, “You have to share with Keith no matter what you have dibs on, they’re _wedding_ gifts.”

                “Wait,” Keith cut in because he was no fun at all, “What about team exercises after breakfast like usual? Shiro?” There was something a little desperate in his voice, as if he would rather be anywhere else than sorting wedding gifts with Lance, and Lance was deeply and profoundly insulted.

                Shiro nodded and passed his empty bowl of goo to Coran when the man made grabby motions to clear the dishes away. “I already talked about it with Allura and Coran. You and Lance have a lot of…not damage control because it wasn’t really a bad thing, but it’s a lot of schmoozing, sort of, to do, so that’ll take a while and you can afford to miss training for a morning.”

                “Lance can’t.” Keith grunted, shoving his bowl away.

                “Please don’t be mean to me after you broke my hand when a cliff couldn’t even do that yesterday.” Lance soured.

                Pidge whistled, “You guys look like you’re going to have lots of fun then. Great.”

                It was fair to assume the group of them had severely underestimated the amount of cargo Coran had received and transported into the recreation room on his own. When breakfast dispersed it was only for them to file dutifully to get an eye-full of the ‘newlyweds’ haul before heading off to training, but the sheer number of scattered crates threw all but Allura and Coran for a loop. The Alteans looked as if they were calculating, almost, and Allura’s bright eyes swept over the piles so quickly Lance was sure she was looking for more.

                “That’s it then.” Allura hummed, “Lance and Keith, you’ll sort through the gifts and have to express gratitude appropriately, which is why Coran will be in and out sporadically to assist with the finer points of composing your communications. Anything that you think poses a threat or seems a concern please come find me immediately regarding.” She was gone without so much of a wave, mice hot on the tails of her skirt squeaking along happily.

                “Is she mad at us?” Lance couldn’t help but groan out, flopping onto a couch in front of one of the large crates and trying to pry it open. “Greasy Keithy, do you keep a crowbar in those saddlebags of yours?”

                “No.” The greasy boy in question rolled his eyes and sat down aside Lance, making no motions to actually help him with the crate.

                Coran tutted to himself a moment before gracing Lance with an answer while Shiro herded the remaining paladins out of the room so they could be ushered to training. “It might be a complicated business leaving this sector so soon if we’ve got such a mass thinking you’ve just recently been engaged. I’ve told the princess it may be proper to hold a ball to get it held over and out of the way, but understandably she doesn’t want to waste the time.” Behind the older alien, Pidge was trying to decipher an alien scrawl that seemed to be rosetta-stoned as a warning of something and conveniently buzzed when she kicked the base of the crate it sat on. Beside her was Hunk, who mouthed that he would get Lance a crowbar in a minute, and they both received a final warning from Shiro before they hustled out of the room.

                “We’re going to have a _ball_!?” Lance lit up, twisting in his seat to better beam at Coran, who only held his hands up.

                “It may be considered depending on how things are looking with these chatty little _Buynik Treelures_!” He granted good-naturedly, and Lance had no idea what that meant but he felt like there was a good chance of a ball so he dropped it.

                He turned away when Coran left, and Keith had opened the crate under mysterious circumstances, peering inside with caution in the wind and Lance thrown with it. “Hey!” He made sure to elbow his team-member and current husband out of the way, “We’re supposed to do it together, it’s not fair if you get to look first.”

                “I have no idea what that is.” Keith only grunted, swatting at Lance’s elbow and moving in closer so they could both peer at the device tucked in the first layer of the packaging.

                It wasn’t wrapped in fancy bridal silver, which was a bummer, but it was space, so Lance wasn’t going to be picky. Instead, the mechanism sat naked in a bed of hay-like protective padding, bared to the confused eyes of fake newlyweds and suddenly without purpose at their inadequacy of deciphering alien devices.

                Lance muttered, “I didn’t think we would have to ask Coran what something was so soon, you’d think, like, toasters and blenders would be universal.”

                Keith ignored him. “We can give it to Pidge?” He lifted it easily, setting it aside and reaching further into the crate to rifle around some more. “Here. There’s shiny stuff in here.” He procured a pair of busy, dazzling flower crowns, respective colors and all—“You like shiny stuff.”—and he handed them both to Lance.

                Rolling his eyes, Lance took both and settled the blue onto his head before ducking forward and setting the red onto Keith’s. “They’re for both of us. What am I going to do with _two_ flower crowns?” When Keith looked back at him with raised brows, Lance was so affected that he released a breath in exasperation so fully at himself that if it were anyone but Keith it would have been obvious. “Wow, it even helps that disaster of a haircut you have.” It was a gross understatement, pressing at Keith’s dark hair to cause the wild locks to fly away from the sparkling gemstones and blooms in a way that was poetically tame.

                Keith remained expressionless, but resigned himself to only nudge a flower and his bangs out of his eyes and reach into the box again. “I think that was it.”

                “We should keep a list so we don’t lose track of who sent what.” Lance hummed, suddenly restless.

                They glanced at one another, but Keith’s face was a wash of confusion. “We can’t read any of this.” He gestured towards the print on the side of the next nearest crate, saying his words slowly like he was afraid Lance had confused himself.

                “Buddy, we can just label what’s inside the crates and Coran can help us decipher addresses later. Give me a pen.”

                They broke through half of the crates easily once Hunk arrived shortly after with the promised crowbar, escaping training to be a dutiful friend. There were enough strange devices to give Pidge and Hunk a few field days, enough exquisite ceremonial robes to drape playfully over Keith’s shoulders to finally get a chuckle out of him, and enough jewels and gems laid carefully in broaches and necklaces and jewelry of all varieties for Lance to feel like a decorated prince. The piece de resistance for Lance, however, was a long metal box that Keith had particularly huffed and puffed to pry open—looking particularly ridiculous in his drapes of fabric flying around as he shoved at the crowbar when it groaned through the metal. Eventually the box popped open, though, and Lance and Keith looked inside to see a gleaming blade.

                “Woah.” Keith said predictably and immediately, and Lance felt his lips twitch in spite of himself.

                It was a dusty, grey purple and red color at every inch, a metal that neither of them would ever be able to name likely. Though it seemed longer than his typical bayard, Keith was undeterred, wrapping his gloved hand around the handle woven in leather chords of red and blue. The hilt held an extraordinary engraving of a lion, eyes deep set and mysterious, and Lance wondered at the likeness of it to a real creature when lions were in fact Earthen if not for the robotic ones, and the animalistic one portrayed was incredibly spot-on.

                Lance took a step back as Keith seemed to test the weight of the blade in his palm, eyes bright and almost wonderous as he looked down at it. “This is cool.” He breathed a little quietly, an absolute understatement.

                Unable to resist, Lance blurted out, “Dibs,” and cackled when Keith’s head whipped to him.

                The blade was thrust under his nose at its center, and Lance cursed how he flinched back, laughter suddenly dead. Keith’s face didn’t give anything away, an impassive mask hiding all the desire a single young man can have for a sword no matter how deep that desire could run. “Okay.” He said, and Lance blinked.

                “You’re not even going to fight me for it.” It wasn’t a question, and Lance tugged the sword away from Keith just for the effect. Unsatisfied with Keith’s new disappointment and the way he pretended it didn’t exist, shrugging instead, Lance continued, “Oh man, dude I was joking. Take your dumb sword why would I even want it?”

                Keith seemed genuinely surprised at Lance’s offering again, blinking, and the notion was extremely insulting but Lance tried not to let it get to him, instead pointing downward and bidding, “Kneel.”

                “What.”

                “You heard me. Kneel for your sword, mullet.” There was pride in Keith’s squint, an unwillingness to cooperate, so Lance threw him the most chivalrous bone he had of explaining his actions, “Aren’t you annoyed nobody ever knights us? We save, like, _everybody_ , and I haven’t been knighted once.”

                “We defend…the universe.” Keith answered as if that was an explanation as to why they hadn’t been given individual knighthoods to kingdoms or planets or provinces or even just the castleship of Altea.

                Despite his protests, he kneeled, and Lance beamed, lowering the sword—carefully, _carefully,_ he wasn’t going to hurt him—onto the swell of the lower boy’s right shoulder. “Keith McMullet,” He addressed formally, ignoring Keith’s grumbling interruption, “I hereby dub you, Sir Keith McMullet the Impulsive and Brave, Red Paladin and Defender of the Universe.” He swung the sword slowly over Keith’s beautiful crowned head, tapping his opposite shoulder as well, and when Keith looked up at him with amusement in his eyes he was momentarily stunned by their angle and the deep fondness in their gaze.

                “You think I’m brave?” Keith tried to ask as Lance pulled the sword back, holding it parallel between them to offer it properly to his new knight.

                “And that’s that.” Lance carried on instead, “Thank you for your dedication to the cause and the Altean banner, Sir Keith.”

                “You’re welcome.” Keith indulged for a fraction of an unbelievable moment, almost stunning Lance as he took the sword. “Do you even know how someone gets properly knighted? Shouldn’t you be royalty?”

                Lance pouted, hopping onto a higher crate to sit and tear into a small package. “How do you know I’m not? Don’t think I could pass for a handsome prince? Are _you_ some kind of knighting expert?” He doubted Keith was some kind of knighting expert.

                He fiddled with the straps of the garment he had just opened from the package, peering down at it and almost missing Keith’s contemplative stare in return to all the questions. The silence drew Lance’s gaze again, flicking up to his knight holding his beautiful sword and swathed in a dozen colorful cloths of different planetary origins and crowned in flowers staring so intently at _him_. “You could.” Keith huffed, their shared gazes becoming bonfires of heat.

                “What?” Lance breathed a minute, blinking in surprise and feeling something low and warm in his stomach swoop at the prospect of Keith so devoted and attentive to him. He was getting too wrapped in the fantasy, the lie of it all, but Keith shrugged.

                “You could pass for a handsome prince.” He clarified, “I’d be your knight.” He smirked and glanced away, like he was telling a secret that he couldn’t believe Lance didn’t know yet and Lance could only stare in confusion, feeling gauzy material beneath his fingertips as a grounding point to grip against in repellent to the tsunami of goosebumps rolling across his skin suddenly.

                “Yeah?” Lance inevitably croaked out, suavity lost in the sincerity of their dumb words with literally no meaning behind them. He felt a loose and toothy smile on his lips he tried to fight but knew he was losing the battle.

                “Yeah.” Keith nodded, and when he glanced back at Lance the new handsome prince of the two could suddenly see the blooming red across the apples of his cheeks, like he was embarrassed of his admission or warmed by their exchange or in just as much distress as Lance, and Lance was _thrilled_.

                So, he tried to ease away without ruining it. “Want to see me wear this, Mr. Faithful Knight?” Lance ruined, tugging his grin into a wolfish one as he lifted the garment under his palms by the straps and revealed a soft, gauzy, and blue piece of nothing meant to be worn for some wedding-tradition-or-other (Lance thought he knew the tradition-or-other). It was entirely see through, clearly meant for sexy-times, and Keith’s eyes were the only indication that Lance had been heard at all, the rest of him freezing while they widened just a fraction.

                “We’re free!” Hunk hooted as the doors slid open, “Show us the loot!”

                Keith’s face whipped away, uncomfortably and disastrously red and Lance felt something stutter and pause in his chest, almost pitying for the teasing he had done—but it was _Keith._ They were lying anyway. Lance let the lingerie drop back into its box as Pidge paced in behind Hunk as well, and Lance knew they were able to forget it well enough when Pidge took one look at their first gift—the strange contraption not even Coran seemed to make sense of right away, or maybe he had but couldn’t explain very well if he did understand it—and immediately asked, “Woah, is that a toaster?”

 

* * *

 

                Lance sat with Keith in the archive chambers with an odd giddiness he could feel to the root of his bones but he couldn’t explain. They had been recording ‘thank you’ messages for what seemed like hours out of obligation while making a movement to their next coalition territory, and Lance would have been bored out of his mind if it weren’t for the strange dedication Keith had towards finishing all of their videos at once. He had all their notes gathered, with Lance’s additions of who and where the gifts had come from to tack into the videos, and something about acting like an engaged or courted or mated pair for a group of cameras to send off to civilizations so outlandishly far away was like lightning for Lance’s poor heart. It was a rush of pure electricity every time Keith’s thumb so much as stroked the back of Lance’s hand—which was such a waste, because the camera couldn’t even _see_ that, he was so dumb, but Lance didn’t want him to get grouchy and stop being such a good actor—and Lance was obliterated by the warmth in himself, encasing everything in the fuzzy comfort of being content with his surroundings.

                Keith was talking into the camera again without him, though, so Lance tore his attention away from the side of his face and looked into the black dot on the wall to formally thank whoever it was now for such a wonderful set of ceremonial _Jubiyuc_ spoons. He wished them good health, thanked them for their well wishes, and made sure they knew how honored the two of them were to have received such an important and precious gift from them. When they finished, it was Keith who was staring at him that time, and Lance blinked though he couldn’t keep his smile from his face.

                “Who’s next, mullet?” Lance sighed pleasantly, stretching forward and watching Keith watch his back bow blatantly.

                “Dual industrial blenders.” Keith reported, sliding a paper across the little table they were settled into and snorting when Lance closed his eyes in return, ignoring the very lists he had made. “We’re almost done.” It’s weird that Keith felt the need the comfort him, Lance thought, feeling his hand receive a quick squeeze under the table, but he accepts it nevertheless.

                “No, we’re not. Don’t lie to make me feel better, Keithers. It’s unbecoming of a healthy relationship.” He hummed, smiling anyway and rubbing his thumb at the junction of Keith’s knuckles.

                Lance could feel Keith’s eyes roll like a cool breeze sweeping through the room, a comfort and obvious presence. “Sit up, then. Excuse me for showing a little pity.” He nudged at Lance’s side and the Blue Paladin cracked his eyes open to find Keith hovering delicately over his frame on the table, eyes exasperated but not unkind.

                “Make me.” Lance stuck his tongue out, relishing in another patented Keith Eye Roll. Their hands unclasped, however, breaking Lance from his musings and reminding him a little harshly of their situation with only unforgiving tension in place of the warmth that had poured into every one of his crevices.

                Keith seemed unaffected by the tension Lance was suddenly hyper-aware of, bringing his now-free hand up to stroke his thumb under Lance’s mouth, which he promptly drew his tongue into and shut. When Keith dipped forward, Lance sat up abruptly, a false panic set in his chest and a strange ringing in his ears. Still, Keith swooped forward and pressed a lie of a brush onto Lance’s cheek, above the curve of his jaw and barely even touching enough to be more than a hover, but something in Lance felt cold at the small contact.

                He pressed some type of a smile to his cheeks to warm him up, wondering if Keith would notice and ignoring that he hoped he would. “Hello from the Voltron Coalition, and thank you from the Blue and Red Paladins.” He recited with precision, looking into the camera and remembering they were in the midst of a complicated schmoozing game Keith was beating him at. What a pain.

 

* * *

 

                They had the ball.

                Princess Allura had relented to it after word had spread even further of Keith and Lance’s courtship of mating or engagement, and Lance worried for a while whether he would be permanently tied down to Keith for the sake of the Voltron Coalition, but Allura assured them that all the trouble would go away once they left their current sector of the galaxy. After they ended the ball.

                It wasn’t their first formal event by any means, but was their first formal event of such a caliber and there was a weird excitement in the air even at the misunderstanding of it all. So, they were fitted through Coran for beautiful traditional Altean garbs fit for warriors of their caliber, Lance and Keith were decorated in customary engagement formal attachments to their robes, and Lance begged Coran for the leading quintents to the ceremony for a special favor that he would owe roughly eighteen decapheebs of chores in return for.

                It was worth it, however, when Lance was holed up in a side room with Keith before their grand entrance, listening to his silence like a scream and calming his unease by procuring the present he had begged Coran for. He handed it to Keith without fanfare, shoving it into his hands and snickering at the jump in his shoulders.

                “What’s this?” Keith immediately asked instead of opening the little box like a normal person.

                Lance, suddenly flustered, looked away when Keith fiddled with the ribbon. “I asked Coran if they had Knights on Altea and he asked me why they would need that if they had the Paladins so I explained what I was talking about and he told me what, like, the closest Altean thing would be. Then I traded my life away to get Coran to find me an old as time medal with the _Crest of White_ on it, which is supposed to be like…what they wore. So now you are a real knight.”

                The box popped open, and through the corner of his eye Lance took in Keith drawing out the old medal by its thick and worn strap, the mysterious metal seal fluttering in the light as it swung free as well. “Can you do that?” Was all that Keith asked, voice a little strange.

                Uncomfortable and feeling tightly rejected of something he wasn’t aware of, Lance griped, “Do what?”

                He knew Keith was rolling his eyes more than he saw it. “Knight me for Altea? It’s been gone for ten-thousand years, and you weren’t part of it. Not really your grounds…” Still, he brought the seal closer to his face, studying the carving and drinking in idea blatantly. Something he wanted and pretended he was unaffected by, again. Lance would snort if he wasn’t so defensive.

                “I don’t think Coran would even give it to me if it was off-limits, dude. Also, we’re _defenders_ _of the universe_ , I’m pretty sure we’re surviving Altea by flying the most powerful technology that’s made it into this side of the galaxy through them.” It sounded lame, so he tacked on an even lamer, “Also, I do what I want.”

                Suddenly, the medal was thrust beneath his nose. “Okay.” Keith said before Lance could flounder in embarrassment. He bowed his head forward again, no flower crown to ring his dark locks but still looking beautiful and devoted and stirring something stupid and ancient-feeling and hopelessly romantic in Lance.

                With shaky fingers, Lance smoothed the leather strap and passed it over Keith’s crown, watching as the crest tapped against his nose and apologizing under his breath for it. He didn’t seem to mind, however, straightening when it rested at his chest and smiling so openly at Lance he was left suddenly breathless and in complete awe.

                “Thanks, Lance.” Keith said, almost reverent. Someone knocked at their exit, and Lance knew it was Coran and knew that it was time to go, but Keith’s looks were changing him so drastically and dramatically, and he wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

                Keith was sure, though, and swept his hand to Lance’s waist tamely like they had practiced and positioned them properly as the doors shied open. They were greeted with the warm faces of familiar ambassadors, some bizarrely smug and fond but overall happy and cheerful for the pair defending their universe, and Lance, still bewildered, could only wave like a freshly-married royal on a balcony, small inoffensive motions with a smile a mile wide.

                It wasn’t until later, swaying around with Hunk lethargically, that Lance thought he was starting to understand the severity of the situation he had fallen into with Keith. Not their engagement party—they’d been reassured enough times to know they were fine with ignoring that for the rest of their lives—but all the accidental emotional turmoil Lance had thrown himself into regarding it. He hadn’t meant to look at Keith for too long, had thought he was being careful, and now Keith wasn’t helping and Hunk was looking down at him so pityingly, like he knew Lance was having an epiphany, that Lance was close to bursting.

                Lance wanted air.

                He climbed out to an often-sealed portion of the castle and marveled at the differences exploring while the castle was stationed on land could make. He couldn’t go too far from the festivities, not wanting to defeat the purpose of the ball entirely and not entirely willing to miss out on so much socializing even if it meant ignoring some strange aches in his heart for the night being, but slipping away while dances were in full swing and Keith and Lance had already had their ceremony would have no harm.

                It was weird when somebody joined him, however. She brought just a drink for herself, posing no threat, and Lance couldn’t recall which ambassador she’d tagged along with necessarily, but being followed had him perfectly on edge in his position.

                “Is it political?” Is all she asked as she sat on an observatory couch, eyeing Lance with her five eyes as though she couldn’t understand why he had come this way just to stand in the middle of the room like a doofus.

                “What?” He asked like a doofus, distracted at being singled out by a conversation that _didn’t_ start with a heavy congratulations or firm pat on the back.

                She smiled around nubby teeth with almost holographic-seeming lips. Lance wondered if that was their planet’s variety of makeup or if it was a natural factor. “Your marriage. I know the coalition must put you paladins under quite a bit of…pressure.” She said it as a challenge, a temptation, and Lance cringed, but she kept talking, “I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help you relieve that tension, if you felt trapped.”

                “What?” He asked again, like a doofus. His utter disbelief is what brought his question about this time, however, rather than his misunderstanding, “Um. No offense, but…” There was no delicate way to phrase this, “This is mad trashy.”

                “Garbagey?” Her long nose twisted—literally, completely twisted—and she seemed to contemplate it a second, “Sorry, explain?”

                “Trashy is untranslatable slang? Whatever, this is uh…gross. Of you.” He shifted on his feet, glancing up at the banners he had helped Hunk hang yesterday to decorate for the festivities and to celebrate their first planned engagement party. “Even if my marriage to Keith was political—which it isn’t, because I’m in love with him—you think it’s cool to…just come on to me when we’re celebrating our mating or whatever you guys call it? I don’t roll like that, sister. You should be more careful not to offend alien cultures, you’re lucky I’m so chill.”

                She seemed to flinch, and Lance wondered if she was related to an ambassador by blood or by trainee or by some other fluke, because she seemed new at this all. “I—You’re right. I’m deeply sorry, Paladin. Please, accept my humblest apologies…I didn’t mean to offend you or your union.”

                Lance shrugged, mouth agape, but a hand at his hip stopped him, and he flicked his gaze back to catch Keith’s narrowed one. “It’s fine.” Lance answered before Keith could pretend he had any diplomatic prowess. “Just be more careful of what you’re assuming about aliens, like I said. Sometimes you just don’t get it.” Keith’s grip tightened on his hip, and Lance willed himself not to shoot him a glare.

                The girl ducked her head as she stood, her drink sloshing over her hand clumsily as she hurried just to leave their vicinity. Lance almost felt bad, except he didn’t because she was being super rude and assumptive about his relationship with Keith, so he had nothing to feel bad about. Worried he wasn’t being affectionate enough, Lance turned to Keith and buried his face into his shoulder immediately, sighing exhaustingly.

                “Everyone was asking me where you were. I think some of them think it’s a crime if you lose track of your fiancé?” Keith mumbled, sounding distracted as he smoothed a hand down the draping fabric of Lance’s formal robes. His hands abandoned the task quickly to simply rub at his back, and Lance was almost surprised at how simple and nice the gesture was.

                “Whoops. My Criminal Knight War Hero Defender of the Universe Fiancé, Keith.” Lance laughed into his collarbone, smiling when he huffed in return. “I just needed some air, this is exhausting. If you ever get married for real what do you think the one lesson you’ve taken out of this is?”

                “What about that girl?” Keith jerked his head towards the exit, not wanting to let Lance forget his unfortunate run-in.

                “Followed me. Focus, mullet. Life lessons.” He propped his chin on Keith’s shoulder, leaning heavily on him and smiling when Keith took his weight with ease and didn’t even complain when Lance began to sway them.

                There was a hesitancy, but it wasn’t enough of one to make Lance concerned. “I don’t know about marriage, really.” Keith finally snorted out, voice giving nothing away.

                “Puh-lease.” Lance crooned, finally wrapping his arms fully around him, “You’re a disaster. You need a nice person to help you clear your head sometimes—I mean all the time. Without me or the team you would’ve flown off and punched Zarkon in the face months ago. You literally did that in our first battle with him head on.”

                Keith tipped his head back, face twisted into a scowl so clearly even from Lance’s peripheral. “Yeah, whatever. Just because I need someone to keep me in check doesn’t mean someone deserves to have to all the time.” It was an uncharacteristically bitter thing to confess, and Lance paused at the sound of it, frowning and turning to face Keith’s ear.

                “That’s a bummer.” He said first a foremost, “You’re a great catch buddy, minus the disaster-cut and the emo-sity. You’re a _knight_ , now, first of all. Second of all, you’re crazy stupid brave and cool and always willing to help people out. A little slow on the uptake sometimes, sure, but you always check back in eventually.” In the back of his throat, when Lance wasn’t sure he was actually having an effect with anything he was saying, he made a signature ‘who knows’ sound. “You listen really well even though you interrupt sometimes and make it seem like you weren’t listening. That’s important. _Oh,_ ” Lance cried suddenly with glee, grabbing Keith’s attention suddenly in a flick of a glance, “You have gigantic, terrible feet that _break people’s hands_ , and you _know_ what they say about big feet, Keith.”

                A momentary flush broke out across Keith’s neck and face at all the praise once it settled in, and Lance wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking away or even feeling embarrassed for having said so much, wanting to comfort his friend above all else. “Shut up.” Keith said shortly, rolling his eyes in a poor attempt to mask his failed attempt at an angst fest on the night of their _engagement party_.

                “So, you’re going to marry someone great. Now, what has this stupid section of the galaxy taught you, Keith?” Lance bid, voice edging dramatic as he leaned forward again and resumed their swaying to give his knight and friend some mercy.

                The hands on Lance’s waist tightened fractionally before sliding around him, and Lance tapered down his amusement. “Assigned seating, I guess. Would’ve saved everyone some chaos after we did our weird entrance thing.”

                “Do you want to dance?” Lance asked when Keith’s hands grazed his sides slowly and hesitantly. They stilled at the question and Lance bit back his smile.

                “Didn’t we dance enough inside? We had to go for like three straight vargas.” Keith grumbled, separating them and getting into the position Coran had taught them in anyway. His hands retracted and reset themselves on Lance in a much more decent position, and Lance couldn’t even contain his laughter.

                He slapped the hands away and smiled at Keith’s offended look, swinging forward to lean his weight on the knight again and grinning wider when he took it without so much of a grunt. “I’m talking ‘teenagers at prom in the third slow dance senior year’ dancing, none of that Altean stuff. Get your hands on me like a filthy teenager, Keith. Like you mean it. We’re getting detention tonight it’ll be so filthy.”

                “I have no idea what language you’re speaking.” Keith muttered, thrusting his hands forward and grasping Lance by his lower back anyway. His face was a soft wash of red, confronted by repressed memories or assumptions probably, and Lance was absolutely delighted to be presented with it.

                “Okay,” Lance said very seriously, “Now to get detention you have to grind on me.”

                Keith choked. “No.”

                Which was fair, but Lance pouted and sighed as dramatically as possible while swaying them more purposefully. “Just keep doing this then. Like real human beings who can’t ballroom dance do.”

                Through his pain, Keith’s lips quirked. A beat of swaying passed, and Lance commended his false composure when he breathed out, “What did you learn?”

                “Coran doesn’t care about human marriage customs when it comes to the cause but he’ll probably be obsessed with it when I get married for real.” Lance hummed. “I mentioned something blue and he said I had my lion and told me to shush. Absolutely rude and blue’s way too big to have on my tux, obviously.”

                “Wh—” Keith cleared his throat, uncharacteristically, “What kind of person do you think you’ll marry?”

                Lance had always had the answer practiced, had always known it like the back of his hand, but now Keith was next to him and they were marriage liars and his heart was in his throat again when he responded. “Some idiot, probably, who thinks being a space ranger is cool and who can handle my absolute magnetism.”

                One of Keith’s stagnant hands moved up to Lance’s ribcage, a strangely comforting anchor that laid heavy where he felt like he was churning. “Probably.” Keith said simply, voice a little far, “You’ll probably meet somebody amazing, you deserve somebody with everything that you want.”

                “I’ve met amazing people.” Lance said, looking at Keith and trying to convey something so important and silent to him that he knew he would have to say eventually that he just wasn’t ready for.

                “Me too.” Keith said, meeting his gaze heatedly. They wouldn’t break this time, still swaying with one another and speaking much softer than either had realized. “I’ll make sure they deserve you.”

                Lance joked, “Thanks, dad. Shovel talk my next boyfriend please.” He was pretty sure a knight and defender of the universe was already more than enough for him.

                “I’m not going to let you get stuck with a bozo just because you’ll feel like you have to settle or something.” Keith joked, voice suddenly light hearted and eyes sparkling. Lance was aiming way too high but he was a sharpshooter for a reason, so it wasn’t like he was going to let Keith out of his sights or anything.

                In spite of himself, he barked a laugh and said, “Wait, who says bozo anymore!?” His leaning to Keith became a cling that the other returned and their dance became a stagnant embrace of just the two lost in one another, ready for the inevitable crash of reality to pull them apart again. For now, though, he could laugh into Keith’s chest while Keith tried to defend his choice of words.

 

* * *

 

                When they finally got away from all the activity and the congratulations and transmissions finally stopped pouring in, Lance sat at the nightly gathered meal of the Paladins and Alteans and complained, “Okay, so that was a _lot_ of work from me and Keith and I want a movie night.”

                “Lance—” Shiro immediately tried, because he always fell asleep during movies and always got embarrassed about it and tried to pretend that wasn’t the reason he didn’t like them having movie nights.

                “Vote now on your phones.” Hunk rose his hand excitedly, “I say movie night.”

                “Movie.” Pidge agreed with a mouth completely full of goo.

                “Only if I get to pick.” Coran mused, earning a unanimous hesitation from the three voted paladins before the ultimately kept their affirmative votes in.

                Allura hummed, “What does ‘vote now on your phones’ mean if we are all raising our hands?”

                And Keith grumbled because he was touchy and movie nights meant cuddles, but Lance was going to get his due for the weeks they had spent fake engaged and he was going to sleep in Keith’s lap as punishment at the very least. He knew, at least now after so long of a trial, the boy was way too nice to even shove him off anymore, so the Blue Paladin was completely in the clear with even a fake nap on his newfound stupid hand-crusher.

                So, Shiro relented for the good of his team, citing that they all had done so well in training earlier that he couldn’t deny them small pleasures and that while that was the case they also shouldn’t get so used to such comforts. It was a routine, and as soon as Coran’s choice of a romantic murder mystery action movie was on the giant screen of the recreation room—now decked to the nines with both engagement decorations and gifts—and had been playing for more than a few minutes, Shiro was blissfully asleep with his head cushioned in his own elbow.

                “It’s like he’s cursed.” Lance stage-whispered, causing Hunk and Coran to dramatically and very loudly shush him.

                Keith, from beside him, spared a glance over to his brotherly figure and rolled his eyes. “He would do that in classes he taught, too. It wasn’t as bad, but he’d prop his head on his hand, play a movie and just let the class leave with the bell and nobody would even jostle him up until lunch. It happened three times.” Keith reported in a much better whisper than Lance, who was losing his shit.

                “And they call _me_ out for getting beauty sleep!” He didn’t even bother with a whisper, earning another round of shushes, and Keith rolled his eyes again.

                “You’re asleep at the most inconvenient times.” Keith explained quietly, “Like training. Or drills. Or training.” His voice was a deadpan, eyes on the screen and missing the slow grin that crept onto Lance’s face at his explanation.

                Lance finally dropped his voice, “Oh, the most _inconvenient_ times?” He set his head onto Keith’s stiff-as-a-rock shoulder without remorse and snuggled in, knowing the night would be hell but wanting to ride it from start to finish. “I’m pretty sleepy right now, so buckle in, Mr. Mullet.”

                “You never fall asleep during movies.” Keith tried, voice garbled. Pidge threw a pouch of juice at him and went on a tangent about why they were even doing this if they were going to talk.

                “I am now.” Lance whispered, turning his body and curling up next to Keith easily, feeling Keith subtly move his arm even just the slightest so it would be easier for him. It was weird and considerate for somebody who was an unwilling partner in the event.

                “Okay.” Keith’s voice was still weird, but Lance figured if he was uncomfortable he would say something, because it wasn’t as if they hadn’t been through a lot together lately. They could trust one another with those kinds of confessions, even at the expense of one another.

                Keith smelled like sweat and the clean meadows Altean soap, which meant he had been using it as shampoo instead of using a different product. Had Lance been in a position to bitch and moan about three-in-one soap ideologies, he would be ready and able, but something about the scent and situation— the hair tickling his nose just a bit and the steady rise of Keith’s shoulders with each breath—kept Lance from becoming antagonizing. Instead, he was actually lulled where he had been jokingly going to be, and longed to be closer to the body next to him, drawn in and pressed against and _cradled_ and—“Lance?” Keith whispered barely above a breath.

                It hadn’t even been five minutes since Lance had pretended to go to sleep, was Keith so worried about disturbing him already? That was…sweet. Lance held his tongue, though, keeping his breaths warm and slow as he let Keith’s presence continue to lull him. Partially wanting to mess with him and partially to draw as close as he could comfortably be, Lance pretended to draw sleepy arms around Keith’s frame and drag himself closer still, smothering his own face into Keith’s neck and hoping he wasn’t being too obvious despite knowing to everyone but Shiro he would be.

                He thought he felt Keith’s breath stutter, but a warm hand rested high on his back—comforting below his shoulder blade and drawing patterns that didn’t exist into his pajamas—and reassured him that he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries suddenly, with all of their ruses destroyed. “Goodnight.” He felt the chest beside him rumble more so than he heard the murmur, but it was decipherable, and when Lance felt a press on the crown of his head he was tempted to fly his eyes open but restrained himself enough to keep his wits about him.

                Lance woke up with one of their engagement gift blankets wrapped around him and an overly plush pillow beneath his head.

 

* * *

 

                Finally being on missions again would have been a comfort if Lance could stop falling off of cliffs.

                It was Keith and Lance’s first together after the entirety of their ‘engagement’, scouting a near deserted planet (save for wildlife) for any remains of Galra territory, and while they worked in tandem just as well it was impossible to ignore the buzzing in the air and the intensity of focus they have on one another.

                It happened when Keith told Lance to scope from a cliff face to get a better idea of their bearings, seeing as they had then been on foot with no advantages to the land. Lance climbed with minimal sarcasm, and it was only when he was at the top boasting about his climbing skills and flashing out his bayard to make their work quick, that the ground gave the slightest indication of instability and Lance slid and coasted off directly into the ground.

                The best part about their armor had always been its impact control, and then was no exception. Keith careened towards Lance with a wild and frantic call of his name, and Lance tucked his hands into his chest with hot instinct to save them from Keith’s stupid heavy boots as he approached. He knew he wouldn’t have a concussion or massive damage because Altean armor was too sophisticated to allow it so much, but he still laid still a moment to get his bearings.

                Keith took it as permission to kneel at his side and rest a hand at his shoulder and waist, however, looking carefully into his eyes and asking with a deep and imploring voice, “Are you okay?”

                “Yes.” Lance hummed, folding his hands on his stomach and letting Keith fret over him. It wasn’t his first fall, after all, and knowing their luck it wouldn’t be his last.

                “I’m going to take your helmet off. Any specific pain?” Keith asked, unfathomably gentle in a way that stirred the deepest parts of Lance all over again and made him want to groan aloud. He took off his own gloves to unseal Lance’s helmet, removing it with two gentle and jerking motions and cradling Lance’s skull with a hand when it was free.

                “No.” Lance hummed again, unfolding his hands and suddenly feeling self-conscious and stupid being fretted over. It was different than last time, they weren’t in the heat of battle, they had time to address him right away and make sure he was okay and Keith had _always_ been a little overly-concerned about things so of course he was going to ask his questions so close and gently like that. Softly, hesitantly, Lance rested his gloved hands on Keith’s blazing red and white chest plate, pressing at it. He knew, sometimes, that Keith wore his medal tucked beneath his armor. He didn’t think Keith intended him to know, but he did. “You might want to step on my hand.” Lance mused, “Since we’re doing the whole shebang, by the way.”

                Keith grumbled, “I’m going to help you sit up. Are you ever going to let me forget about your completely healed hand?”

                Lance waggled his eyebrows as he was lifted, “I mean, not with that kind of attitude, I hope not. This might be the hand of your dreams, Mr. Mullet, you don’t even know!” When he was fully righted, Keith shifted to wrap a leg around his back, supporting him just in case he was suddenly incapable of sitting up. It was weird, being so close so consciously and so intimate, with his legs suddenly needing to fold over Keith’s other if he wanted to have any space and blatantly being in his lap at that point.

                “I’m pretty sure I’d know.” Despite his nonchalance, there was a smile on Keith’s lips, and when Lance glanced over he was met with Keith’s bare hands fluttering again before resting on Lance’s cheeks. They stroked at his cheekbones and jaw a moment, as if Keith himself was distracted, before he continued, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

                “I’m fine.” Lance answered immediately. “I promise.” He made sure his smile was as warm as could be, as brilliant and wide and everything Keith deserved in a smile. “Rain check on the hand stepping, then?” He joked, quieter as Keith’s stroking thumbs slowed.

                Keith’s eyes flicked downwards before finding his, hardened and warm pools of indigo. “If you’re so into it, I guess.” And he drew Lance forward easily because Lance was as pliant as possible under his hands. Their lips met in a press that became an open mouthed push as soon as it had begun, and Lance thought with clarity that something in his chest had finally swelled to a release, and he was ready to pour himself entirety into Keith.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading ♥♥♥♥♥ kudos and comment if you have a heart I'm just a girl who wants to be valid like anyone else
> 
> If you liked this please consider: Following me on [tumblr](https://2towels.tumblr.com/) (I just had my sister remodel so everything looks pretty pls ♥ ♥ ♥)


End file.
